Everybody Comes to Sandrine's
by Laura Williams
Summary: A prequel to "Arithmetic Lessons" about how Janeway and Chakotay got together.


EVERYBODY COMES TO SANDRINE'S

* * *

  


June 1995 

Written just a few days after "Arithmetic Lessons" was completed, it actually takes place about five years _before_ its predecessor. You need not have read "Arithmetic Lessons" to enjoy this one, but it might help. This story combines all the things I used to think were great about Voyager: humor, pool, magic, and romance. Oh, and a few shameless references to _Casablanca_. 

**Everybody Comes to Sandrine's  
by Laura Williams**

They were doing it again. 

Tom Paris heard the whispers start up behind him on the Bridge. Without having to turn around he could visualize them: Janeway, turned 180 degrees in her chair, gazing into her First Officer's tanned face; and Chakotay himself, leaned far to the right in _his_ chair, practically doubled over in his attempt to close the distance between himself and his Captain. Sometimes they spent the whole last hour of the watch that way, exchanging quiet whispers, heads bent close together, while the rest of the Bridge personnel went about their daily business and pretended not to notice. And they were doing it again. 

Tom idly wondered what they were talking about. Sometimes, if he really concentrated, he could pick up snatches of their conversations -- canine anecdotes, bits of Indian wisdom, B'Elanna's latest improvements to the engine design. He couldn't tell what they were talking about today, but he could always ask Harry later. From his position at Ops, Harry was in a much better place to eavesdrop on the little end-of-watch conversations -- behind the Command chairs where he could read lips even if he couldn't hear. Then again, Harry could be annoyingly closemouthed about the whispers exchanged between Captain and First Officer on boring afternoons. Being married to B'Elanna for six months had loosened Harry up considerably -- Tom reflected that being married to B'Elanna would probably loosen any man up, especially after the spine was snapped -- but he was still obsessed with protocol. Likely he wouldn't talk. 

Of course, Tuvok had the best view of the Commander and Captain, paired with exceptional hearing, but he was even less liable to share the topics of today's little tete-a-tete. He probably wasn't even listening. Vulcan propriety and all. 

So, as usual, Tom was left to his own devices, straining his ears to pick up even a word or two and keeping one eye on the chronometer, waiting for the moment when he could grab Harry, head for Sandrine's, and start in on an all-night binge. Only a few minutes to go in this unbelievably dull day, the fourth in a row. He'd already decided that if they didn't come across something -- a hostile planet, a dangerous nebula, even a nice little space/time anomaly -- to break the monotony soon, he was going to throw himself out the nearest airlock without an environmental suit. It would put him out of his misery, and would at least give the gang down in Stellar Cartography something interesting to look at for a change. 

He was fully immersed in this thought, the image of himself floating past the Bridge, the Briefing Room, the galley, waving cheerfully and smiling as he went by, when he heard the First Officer laugh behind him. He resisted the urge to glance back at them. He could see Chakotay's face in his mind, eyes wide and probably a little glassy, smiling foolishly at the Captain. Tom had been watching him for two years now -- they'd all been watching him for two years now -- agreeing with virtually every decision Janeway had ever made, staring at her hair during briefings, gulping slightly whenever she touched him, which she did often. It was plainly obvious, at least to Tom, that Chakotay's feelings for his Captain went well beyond the normal respect and courtesy afforded one officer to another. More than once Tom had had to fight off the impulse to take Chakotay aside and try to knock some sense into that big square skull of his. "Chakotay," he could hear himself saying, "if you don't make a play for her soon, someone else is going to beat you to it. You two belong together. If you don't tell her you how you feel, you're going to regret it. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon, and for the rest of your life." 

Tom shook his head and decided he'd been spending way too much time with Jenny Delaney and her film noir collection. 

And anyway, the situation was more suited to a good old French farce, maybe something by Feydeau. Chakotay's and Janeway's quarters were adjacent, there would be plenty of opportunity for door slamming and mad chases down the hall... And maybe for comedic purposes someone could cut an opening in the wall that separated the rooms, affording many further complications... 

Better yet, Klingon opera. Chakotay with long flowing hair and a feral expression, beating his chest and fiercely bellowing about his unrequited love for the Captain, and Janeway screeching back at him about duty and protocol, sprawled at his feet...in body armor... 

"Mister Paris?" 

Tom jumped at the sound of his name. He turned and found his relief officer standing at his elbow, ready to take over the station. Right on time. Five minutes early, in fact. Tom hopped to his feet and slapped the man on the shoulder. "Thanks, Hargrove," he said, and bounded up to the Ops position, where Harry patiently waited for his relief crewman. 

"How 'bout it, Harry?" Tom asked, sidling up to the younger man. "A round of pool at Sandrine's?" 

Harry shook his head. "Sorry, Tom. B'Elanna and I have plans." 

Tom recoiled slightly. "Oh, Harry, it's only been six months and already you're starting to sound like an old married man. Just one round of pool. You, me, Chakotay, some fine French wine, some fine French women..." 

"Chakotay doesn't drink, and I'm married now." 

"Break the shackles, Harry. Boys' night out. How long has it been since you've just sat around with the guys and traded war stories, huh? B'Elanna must have you on a pretty short leash." 

Harry turned to face him. "What's the matter, Tom? You and Jenny fighting again?" 

Tom saw the annoyance in Harry's eyes and backed off. "Hey now, no need to get nasty, I know when I'm beat. What's eating you, anyway?" 

Harry paused for a second. He opened his mouth to speak but at that moment the lift doors opened and B'Elanna walked onto the Bridge. Harry shook his head at Tom. "Later," he said, and met B'Elanna near the lift. Tom shrugged and moved to leave with Janeway and Chakotay, who were still engaged in animated conversation, when Harry and B'Elanna stepped in front of them. 

"Captain, B'Elanna and I would like to talk to you, if you have a minute," Harry said. 

Janeway glanced from one to the other and back. "If this is ship's business, then by all means." 

B'Elanna shifted her feet nervously. "No, Captain. It's personal. But we'd still like to talk to you." She glanced over Janeway's shoulder. "Commander Chakotay too, if possible." 

Tom watched Janeway consider, then nod once, a quick dip of her chin. "All right." She ushered them into her Ready Room, Chakotay following close behind her -- closer than was required by Command protocol, Tom thought, supressing a smile. 

The door slid closed after them. Tom rocked back on his heels, once, twice, face twisted in concentration, trying to guess what kind of personal matter his two friends would want to discuss with the Captain and First Officer on such a boring afternoon. He manufactured a job for himself at a deserted console and sat down to wait. 

Twenty minutes later, while he was drumming on the console with his fingers and toying with Klingon lyrical conventions in his head, the door opened again. B'Elanna and Harry emerged first, walking very close to each other but not touching. Chakotay emerged a second later, looking grim. The Captain did not emerge. Tom hopped from his chair and walked after the trio, a loud, "Thanks for your help with that program, Hargrove," springing from his lips. He gave the startled Hargrove a wink and a nod and entered the lift with his three fellow officers. 

They rode in silence for several decks, B'Elanna and Harry standing even closer together, but still not touching, Chakotay propped up with one hand against the lift wall, Tom rocking slowly on his heels, back and forth, watching them. No one spoke. 

The lift slowed to a halt and Chakotay started to exit, but B'Elanna caught him by the sleeve. "We want to thank you for your help, Chakotay." 

Chakotay paused, holding the lift doors with one hand. He glanced at Tom, who displayed his best innocent and charming smile, then looked back at B'Elanna and Harry. "I just want you both to know," he said, "that you have all my support. I will do everything I can to see that your request is granted as quickly as possible. But I'll warn you -- this may not be easy." 

Harry held out his hand to Chakotay. "Thank you, Commander." 

Chakotay glanced back at the still-smiling Tom, frowned slightly, then disappeared down the corridor as the lift doors closed. 

Tom suppressed the urge to whistle. 

At the next deck, B'Elanna and Harry exited together, hand-in-hand, silently. The doors closed again. 

"Well, well, well," Tom muttered to the empty lift. "Looks like something is going on around here after all." He chuckled to himself. "I wonder how long it'll take me to find out what it is." 

He was seated in his usual chair at Sandrine's before it occurred to him that he would probably be drinking alone tonight. Again. 

***** 

Harry rolled over on his back and let out a long breath. After two hours of coaxing, cajoling, and even pleading, he'd finally managed to get B'Elanna to relax and come to bed. Now she was up already, stalking through the room, after only half an hour of repose. Harry sighed again. That was fifteen minutes longer than he'd expected. It wasn't enough. 

And so now she paced the room, or prowled it, actually, three quick steps to the left, three quick steps to the right, punctuated occasionally by a low growl. Harry didn't interfere. He'd been married to her long enough to know there was very little he could do when she got this way, frustrated over a situation that couldn't be helped, hurried, or fought, so instead he just let her pace. At least she had grown out of the punching, kicking, scratching stage she'd been in when he'd met her two years previously. In fact, when he'd met her they had been in a situation very like this one -- at the mercy of someone else's decisions. And they had each reacted in much the same ways, B'Elanna raging and releasing her anger in a very physical manner, and Harry lying back and trusting that things would work out as they should. And they had. And he had pointed it out to her. More than once. 

But for now, however, he was content to lie back and listen to her pace. One, two, three, turn; one, two -- growl -- three, turn; one. Stomp, stomp. Harry sat up fractionally. "I can't believe," she hissed, "that you're just _lying_ there." 

Harry propped himself on one elbow and pushed up the sleeping mask he still habitually wore. "What?" 

B'Elanna bared her teeth at him, and Harry shuddered, recalling with exhilaration, and not a little fear, the feel of those teeth fastened onto his flesh. "They're up there making the most important decision of our life, and you're just _lying_ there!" 

"There's very little we can do about it, B'Elanna." 

"That's what bothers me!" She turned and started pacing again. "This should be _our_ decision, not theirs. We should be the ones staying up all night trying to decide if it's the right thing to do." 

"We already did that," he pointed out. 

"But that should have been it! Once w 


End file.
